


Let Him Go (John Watson)

by StarGirl235



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29225691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarGirl235/pseuds/StarGirl235
Summary: "You're doing that thing again.""What thing?""Where you start talking and expect me to care."Cora has always dreamed of having a more normal existence, especially when your last name is Holmes of all things are not expected. That's until retired army doctor John Watson enters her life and starts to make her feel more like a human being than she ever has.
Relationships: John Watson/Original Female Character(s)





	1. (1) A Study In Pink

_"Its the little things you do_

_that make my heart feel alive."_

**DISCLAIMER**

I do not own Sherlock or it's characters they belong to the BBC. Plot is mine and so is Cora. 

**NOTE 📝**

I apologise for grammar or plot mistakes in advance. Don't begin pointing it out because I know it's there and will come back to it at a later date. This story is based in the world of the BBC tv series Sherlock.

Please also remember leave kudos or comment it would really mean a lot Thank you x

🙏

**WARNING⚠️**

Mild language

**CAST**

Rachel Weisz as Cora Holmes

Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes

Martin Freeman as John Watson

rest of the Sherlock Cast as their respective characters.

* * *

It's early the next morning of January 28th, 2010 a police press conference is being held by that of one Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, the man is feeling nothing but uncomfortable as his colleague Sergeant Sally Donovan sat beside him as she addresses the gathering of press reporters.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Mister for Transport, was found late last night on a building sight in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now,"

Reporters began raising their hands, Lestrade nodded at one of them and they asked, "Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"

"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of-" Lestrade began to explain before getting interrupted by the reporter.

"But you can't have serial suicides?"

"Well, apparently you can," Lestrade responded with a sigh.

Another reporter now asked, "These three people: there's nothing that links them?"

Lestrade lets out another sigh, "There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one."

Suddenly everybody's mobile phones simultaneously trill with a text alert. All now going to glance at their phones screens as the message read:

_Wrong!_

Sergeant Donovan is also looking at her phone and frowned before looking up at the reporters to inform them, "If you've all got texts, please ignore them."

"Just says, 'Wrong'," the first reporter implies.

Donovan nods her head in response, "Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

Only for the second reporter to talk over her, "But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?"

Lestrade looked back at everyone, "As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating..."

Everyone's mobiles trilled with another text:

_Wrong!_

"Says, 'Wrong' again."

Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally before turning back to the reporters, "One more question."

"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" a third reporter now asked.

Lestrade glanced to his colleague tiredly, "I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered."

The reporter but only continued to question, "Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well, don't commit suicide," Lestrade offered a little sarcastically, only for the reporter to gaze back in shock.

Sally leans over to mutter in warning, "'Daily Mail.'"

He grimaces and returned his attention to the reporters once again, "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Again the phones trill with another message:

_Wrong!_

It only takes another moment longer for Lestrade's phone to get a text and when he checks the messages he rolls his eyes with disbelief:

_You know where_

_to find me._

_SH_

With a look of exasperation, he pocketed his phone and stood up looking at the reporters, "Thank you."

It was during that whole press conference that he hadn't noticed the woman dressed in a dark trench coat, hidden out of sight who had a smirk on her ruby red lips that had been sending the message throughout. Her coat now whipping out at sight before she was even noticed.

**-*-**

One Cora Holmes leant back on a bench in St. James's Park a not far from Scotland Yard, a cigarette between her fingers and impatiently clicking her heel against the benches leg because Lestrade was late. It just really annoyed her when people were late for things, but she honestly couldn't blame him after this morning. Taking another drag of her cigarette, she blew out a stream of the smokey white vapour as it vanished into thin air, deducting people within seconds as they passed by her. Guessing who were the cheaters, beaters and criminals.

Pulling up the sleeve of her coat she looked at her watch, not bothered to get out her phone, it was 12:15 pm. Cora didn't even have to look for her to know that Lestrade had sat on the bench a couple of inches from her.

Pulling out her lighter, she held it out and he took it lighting his cigarette, "Cora, you and your brother need to stop," he takes a puff from his cigarette.

"Well, it isn't an excuse to be late," she states moodily, staring ahead of her not having paid Greg the slightest attention to what he just said.

"I'm being deadly serious Cora, you just can't go around texting reporters during a press conference when it pleases you. It made us look right utter prats," he explained, smoke billowing out of his mouth before he takes another drag.

"Honestly, Greg you don't need me and my brother around make you look like complete pillock's. When your capable of doing it already," Cora takes a final blow of the cigarette now at its end, dropping it and treading it out with her heel.

"But did you have to do that?"

"Yes, Greg because it was vital for them to know you were wrong and late yet again," she argued, getting her packet of cigarettes out, plucking one from the packet and lighting it.

"I'm sorry but there was a matter with dealing with the press."

"You know where to find us if you need assistance with anything," just as Cora finished speaking her phone alerted her.

_When you're finished conversing with Lestrade meet me at St. Bart's_

_-SH_

"Sorry, I've got to dash but Sherlock needs me," getting up she stomped out her cigarette on the benches arm and put it back in the packet for later before finally glancing down at Greg.

"I'll see you around then," he looked at her for a moment in understanding. They knew how Sherlock got when his demands weren't met straight away after texting said person. Either you went straight away or he'd be on somebody's case for days.

"Yeah, sure," with that she went running off, her pale blue scarf trailing along in the wind as she went.


	2. Dr Watson

Upon Cora's arrival at St Bart's Hospital, she is met by her brother Sherlock who instantly headed towards the morgue soon as she was in his sights. With an aggravated huff she rolled her eyes, taking that pleasantries weren't on Sherlock's to-do list today.

"Did your date go well with Grant?" Sherlock finally spoke as his twin sister tried to catch up with his quick pace.

"First of all it wasn't a date, you know well enough I don't do that," she bitterly informed with a snarl, as Sherlock only but smirked with joy, "And for the millionth time his name is Greg and he's my friend."

Now having arrived at the morgue they are met by Pathologist Molly Hooper showing them a body bag upon a table. Sherlock unzips the bag and peers at the corpse inside of a 60 something-year-old man resting peacefully.

"How fresh is the body?" Cora asked, as her brother closed the bag back up.

Molly walks towards them smiling fondly as she spoke of the man, "Just in. 67, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

"Fine, we'll start with the riding crop," Sherlock responded turning back to her with a put-on smile.

Awhile later the body has since been removed from its body bag and lying on its back on the medical table. In the observation room, Molly watched whilst flinching slightly as Sherlock whipped the body repetitively with a riding crop.

"So, bad day, was it?" the pathologist joked, only for it to go over the twin's heads. That was the problem with being smart, they both tended to miss out on certain things like a joke or when someone was being sarcastic.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," Sherlock instructed, fetching out his notepad and writing in it, "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later when you're finished..." Molly began striking up the courage to ask Sherlock out only for him to interrupt her taking a glance as he wrote, only for him to take a double-take and frown in confusion at her, "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er...I refreshed it a bit," the woman offered timidly, but Cora wasn't stupid enough to know why Molly had slathered lipstick on.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," but the question sadly fell on deaf ears, another thing about them being exceptionally smart was other people's feelings. Both of them completely oblivious about when somebody liked them.

"Black, two sugars, please," he looked to Molly putting his notepad away, "I'll be upstairs and my sister will take a milky coffee, one sugar," he goes on still not obvious what she had asked him and walks away.

**-*-**

They had now come upstairs to the lab where Cora and Sherlock had begun running out some tests until they're interrupted by a knock on the door and their old friend Mike Stanford comes strolling in with a man that Cora noticed had a slight limp. Which she could tell was something more along the lines of psychological than physical. She guessed that the man was into his mid to late thirties, with dirty blonde hair that was starting to grey a little and probably had recently gotten off an army tour.

Her mind had absorbed every possible detail about the man as she could like a sponge, his blueish eyes wandering over the lab's equipment as he gave a nervous chuckle, "Well, bit different from my day."

Mike responded in the same manner, "You've no idea!"

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked of him soon as he sat down, "There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the landline?

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry," he searches his lab coat, Cora shook her head with disbelief, clearly seeing the weight of it in the man's right trouser pocket, obviously not wanting to lend Sherlock his personal property, "It's in my coat."

"Err...here," the other man reached into his back pocket and grabbed his phone holding it out, "Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you," Sherlock forcefully smiled.

Glancing at Mike only briefly, as he stood up from his chair and walked towards the man who Mike now introduced, "This an old friend of mine, John Watson."

Cora offered John a sincere smile, as her brother takes his phone and began texting away, just as she casually asked him out of the blue, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowned suddenly rather taken aback by the stunning said woman's question, her flawless almost porcelain complexion and model like features that made her matte blood-red lips stand out, along with her dark chocolate brown hair in a tight bun and piercing blue eyes, "Sorry?"

"Which was it...Afghanistan or Iraq?" Cora asked more carefully this time, as her brother briefly glanced up from the phone before returning to it.

She sees John hesitate, glancing over at Mike in confusion who only but offered his dear friend smug smile.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?"

Just at that moment Molly makes an appearance into the room with two mugs of coffee in hand, passing both Sherlock and Cora their drinks, "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," only for Sherlock to pause and take a closer look at the woman, the trace of lipstick now clearly gone, "What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly responded with an awkward smile, "It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," Sherlock unintentionally insults Molly, took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face of disgust from its taste before finally turning his attention back to John, "How do you feel about the violin?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The violin?" Cora added.

"My sister and I both play the violin when we're thinking," as Sherlock explained typing away, "Sometimes we don't talk for days on end and Cora has the occasional nightmare which usually ends with her waking up screaming in the dead of night. Would that bother you? I always think that potential flatmates should know the worst about one another," Sherlock continued glancing in John's direction, as he and Cora returned rather forceful smiles in which the older man could only stare blankly before directing his gaze to Mike

"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" John enquired to Mike, still rather baffled about what was happening.

"Not a word," Stanford replied with a proud smile.

John turned back towards Sherlock again, "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did," Sherlock replied to John, as he and Cora pulled on their coats briefly glancing at his sister, "My sister Cora, was on a date."

"For the last time it wasn't a date," Cora implied with a noise of aggravation whilst tying her scarf around her neck, not seeing the cheeky smirk on his face as he turned to John.

"Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Cora noticed John frowning.

But Sherlock completely ignores the question entirely, busy sorting out his scarf, grabbing his mobile phone to check it over, "We've got an eye on a nice little place in central London," he now walked towards John, Cora not far behind him, "Together we ought to be able to afford it, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash," he paused for a moment in thought, placing his phone back into his coat pocket, "I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary, let's go, dear sister," both walked on past John towards the door.

John turned to stare back at them oddly, "Is that it?"

The female Holmes paused and went to face him, eyebrow raised and arms folded across her chest, "Is that what exactly Mr Watson?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"And the problem being?" which made Cora frown confusion, not completely understanding what John was trying to imply yet she and Sherlock now knew everything they needed to know about the man.

John looked to Mike with a smile of disbelief, but his friend only but continued to smile nervously at the Holmes siblings. He now glanced back at the younger woman, "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your names."

The twins quickly look him over only just for a moment before Cora was the one to speak first, "Now, Mr Watson my brother and I both know you're an army doctor and you've since been made invalided home from Afghanistan," she paused at the right exact moment for to let her brother continue.

"And I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic quite correctly, I'm afraid," Cora takes notice of John peering down at his leg for a moment and awkwardly shuffling his feet, as Sherlock carried on with a slight smugness in his voice, "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

And with that they both turned away from him, going back towards the door again, Sherlock holding it open for his sister to go through, she glanced over her shoulder at the older man, "Our names are Sherlock and Cora Holmes, the address is 221B Baker Street, good afternoon Mr Watson," she finished with a wink before she and Sherlock slipped out of sight.


End file.
